Cattle of Ra
by MonkeyEpoxy
Summary: The death of the basilisk in Slytherin's Chamber had lasting implications beyond anyone's comprehension. A word for the wise: Gods have not always been mythical and the Land of the Pharaohs has never been closer.
1. Prologue

Harry Potter's green eyes were listless as he guided a terrified and shell-shocked Ginny Weasley away from the freshly slain basilisk. The sound of Ginny's sobs, interspersed with choked out apologies, echoed throughout the cavernous Chamber. Leading Ginny along was quite an arduous task for the twelve year old young man. Having a limp female clinging to your left half while carrying a longsword and a ratty old hat in the other hand proved to be a rather difficult venture. After dropping the sword for the third time in as many minutes, Harry, reaching the frayed ends of his sanity, forced the Sorting Hat into Ginny's arms.

"Pull yourself together, Ginny," he reprimanded sharply. "Are you a Gryffindor or not?"

Seeing her shrink away in fear, Harry sighed and regretted his harsh words almost immediately. He recognized even his his tired state that snapping at an eleven year old girl who had been possessed and nearly died is very cruel, Gryffindor or not.

"I'm sorry, Ginny, I didn't mean to shout at you," Harry started in what he hoped was a comforting tone. "This isn't your fault, and it was wrong of me to take my current frustrations out on you. None of this came about through any fault of your own."

"Yes! Yes it did! If I hadn't written in this stupid diary none of this would have happened! I petrified all of those people and almost killed you! I'm going to be expelled and thrown into Azkaban!" she cried out, bursting into a fresh set of tears.

Harry had no idea what in the hell an Azkaban was, but he had a pretty good idea where the guilt for this years' basilisk related misadventures fell.

"Ginny, look at me. This is not your fault. Remember back to this past summer when your dad got into a fight with Lucius Malfoy outside of Flourish & Blotts?" he asked. "I think Malfoy Sr. slipped you the diary when he put your books back into your cauldron."

Seeing the hope light up Ginny's eyes would have been comical if they had currently resided anywhere but next to the corpse of a giant snake. To Harry's dismay, however, that hope disappeared as quickly as it had arrived.

"Malfoy may have given me the diary but I didn't have to write in it! I could have stopped at anytime... ." Her words lost all cohesion and she wrapped herself around Harry in a comfort-seeking hug that would have made her mother proud, her existence once again reduced to frantic tears. Harry awkwardly patted Ginny on the back, trying his hardest to comfort her, but from what he could tell, it was a futile gesture. He settled on the ground with his second skin still clinging to him and so that he could be more comfortable while Ginny, hopefully, cried herself out.

Ginny's sobs had relented to occasional sniffling when a shrill, piercing sound assaulted the childrens' ears. An overwrought Ginny fainted dead away; the noise was the last blade needed to rend away her consciousness. Hesitantly, Harry turned around and nearly fainted at the sight himself.

The basilisk corpse was rapidly shriveling; air was seemingly being forced out of every pore and orifice the giant snake possessed as the King of Serpents hissed its final insult to mankind. The carcass desiccated itself at an incredible pace, collapsing as the flesh dried up and magically rotted awayas the the shrieking noise continued its incursion on Harry's brain. However, as quickly as it started, it had finished, the ancient basilisk reduced to a skeletal form that would give him nightmares for weeks. Looking around with trepidation, he saw yet another sight in this hellish chamber that he would remember forever. The mist that was once the flesh of the basilisk now hung along the walls and ceiling of the chamber, sickly looking and ominous. The unnatural gas began to cyclone around the unconscious girl and her minder, spinning faster and faster and migrating its way towards the center of the chamber.

Harry began to feel magic in the air. The feeling was not unlike what the atmosphere felt like in Lockhart's failed dueling club – all of the spells being thrown around gave the air a humid feeling and it made his skin tingle. The "magic" in the air that night was an insult to what was being discharged by the decomposing basilisk.

The air around the gas began to become charged thanks to the unnatural magic and natural friction and bursts of lightning made themselves known. Caught flat-footed by a phenomenon not likely witnessed in millennia, Harry absurdly had his mind wander to an educational show he caught on the television while the Dursleys were away.

_It's like a Pyroclastic flow, except without, you know, a volcano, _Harry had mused.

Meanwhile, the gas had picked up even more angular speed, and the lightning was becoming more frequent, and the entire system, Harry noticed, was getting very close. Being a second year, he knew very little about magic beyond, "wave your wand and speak in Latin with intent and desire and stuff happens," but, almost instinctively, he knew that having that vapor touch him or Ginny would have dire consequences.

Ginny had awoken sometime during the maelstrom and was staring at the swirling, infectious looking mists in awe.

The miasma was no more than ten feet from the children, the lightning close enough to brush them, leaving blackened, charred flesh behind. Harry and Ginny curled in on themselves, screaming in pain as the barrage of electricity peppered their bodies. Harry began to think that death was inevitable, and, were he older, he would have been contemplating the irony of being killed by something he had, literally, just killed. He thought of Ron and Hermione. He thought of the first friends he was ever allowed to have. He thought of Hogwarts, the first place he had ever _belonged_ to. He clutched Ginny in a painful embrace as he watched his Death approach.

Right before the blackened scythe dispatched them from the mortal realm, however, Harry began to feel a tugging sensation in his chest, a feeling with which he had already been introduced.

~0~0~0~0~

A week before the students of Hogwarts were to be sent home for their summer holiday, the first years were informed that they were not to do any magic while they were away from school. Harry despised this. No, despise does not do the emotion justice. Harry _loathed _this. He loathed it so much so that he forgot what Professor McGonagall had told them in his second ever Transfiguration class regarding how easy it was to magically exhaust yourselves at a young age. Harry went over every spell he had learned that year in an effort to imprint them in his mind. Magic was too cool to be forgotten. He _refused_ to forget that which now defined him.

After six transfigurations, he had started to feel something pulling on his insides. Since it was not uncomfortable, however, he continued. After three more spells, he felt something inside him, for lack of a better term, snap, and he fell back on the couch too tired to do anything but sit there. When Hermione found him in the common room an hour later, she rushed to his side. By this point, Harry had realized he had magically exhausted himself and told Hermione not to worry, so of course she went to Madam Pomfrey. After spending the night in the Hospital Wing and enduring two different lectures from the Matron and his Head of House, Harry decided that magical exhaustion was something to avoid, if only to stop two scary old women from shouting at him.

~0~0~0~0~

Mind bleary from the pain, Harry wondered how he was suffering from magical exhaustion at this instance since he had not cast a spell in hours, but the encroaching gas was a much bigger concern at the moment. The tugging reached its crecendo and he felt the dreaded snap. Immediately, a picture on the wall began to glow. The light was so bright that it was able to be seen through the green fog. Right before the sublimated basilisk remains touched the pair, the light-emitting picture pulsed a single time, and the gas drifted to it with amazing alacrity. As soon as the first tendrils of gas touched the picture, it disappeared with another piercing shriek.

Harry could do nothing but stare at the pulsating, illuminated picture with his mouth open. A palpable feeling of curiosity descended upon him. Oblivious to the pain caused by countless electrical burns, Harry hobbled over to the wall of the Chamber, and for what seemed like the hundredth time that night, gaped at the spectacle before him.

He beheld something out of a museum. Carved into the wall of Slytherin's Chamber was a two meter tall carving of... something. Intricately detailed, the carving had the body of a robed man with his torso exposed. In one hand he held an impressive staff whose head, a depiction of the sun, was the source of the light that saved them. In the other hand he held a strange cross symbol that also faintly glowed. The most disquieting part of the statue was the man's head. Resting on his shoulders was the head of a hawk wreathed in an expansive headdress and yet another idealization of the sun.

Harry knew that he had seen this figure before, but his pain addled, exhausted brain could not grasp it.

As soon as he went to turn back to a still unconscious Ginny his eyes caught the glyph's, and his mind was assaulted by image fragments. He saw an expansive desert. An indolently flowing river that was impossibly wide. A crocodile sunning itself in the dust. A black, sky-scratching monument riddled with paintings of a woman-like cat. A squat monument made of bricks. A tan colored obelisk surrounded by towering walls and gardens, images of a hawk-headed man arrayed on every surface.

Harry could not stop staring into the eyes of the carving as the images pounded into his mind. Another squat mastaba blurred by. A dark-skinned man with a strange crown looking into a mirror. The man's face bore a striking resemblance to his own, but before he could focus the stream continued to an impossibly beautiful woman; her blonde hair cascading down her back and her pale skin an exotic contrast to the dearth of dark skin surrounding her. More images. An unfinished monument made of stone surrounded by scurrying masons and carpenters. And so it continued. On and on for what seemed like hours. More stone structures. More fearsome hawk-heads. _More._

Right when Harry thought he could take no more, the images stopped flashing through his brain on their own accord, but that did not stop his taxed mind from drawing up the images on their own. Images that were forever and ruthlessly seared into his memory.

"What in the hell are you?" asked a frightened Harry, his voice cracking as he remembered the onslaught.

The response caressed his body like a lover, a whisper just on the edge of his hearing, and it terrified him in ways that Voldemort could only dream of.

_Raaaaaaaaaaaaa. I am Ra, mortal. I saved you from Apophis's servant because he shall not have you. For you, mortal, are MINE!_

The last word echoed throughout the chamber, and Harry knew no more.

~0~0~0~0~

Author's Note:

This is the raw prologue of a story that has been percolating in my mind for a while now. It plays with the common fanfiction trope that Harry somehow connects to one of his ancestors, but rather than this connection tying him to a hogwarts founder or something, he is tied through a middleman to Djoser, Pharaoh of the Third-Dynasty, Beloved of Ra. Mostly canon-compliant up until this divergence with the only difference being a slight uptick in Harry's intelligence combined with the innate belief that magic is rather cool and there are a lot worse things he could be doing than learning it.

Chapters will definitely be longer than this as I get going. This is just a prologue. I can't give any estimates as to how quickly I will update as Texas A&M is a rather demanding school and I haven't written any of this beyond a simple outline.

Enjoy

Disclaimer: I own nothing.


	2. The Flame and the Void

His existence was reduced to a solitary flame burning amidst nothing. There existed nothing but the flame. All of his anxieties, all of his hatred, all of his love, all of his emotions, _everything_ was fed to the purifying flame.

_You must learn to clear your mind, Harry._

Harry had thought of little else since Dumbledore had made him aware of the art of Legilimency and what it entails during their conversation in the Hospital Wing.

~0~0~0~0~

"Sir," Harry began, "when I was in the Chamber of Secrets talking to Tom Riddle, he somehow knew what I was going to say before I said it. It got to the point where he never let me finish a phrase – he finished them for me."

"Were you, by chance, looking him in the eyes?"

"I think so, sir."

"This explains a great many things, Harry," Dumbledore sighed. "It is also very troubling."

"Sir?"

"I had known that Tom had become very adept at Legilimency during his travels, but I was unaware he had progressed so far in the art while he traveled these halls. I suppose I should not be surprised."

"Legilimency, sir?" Harry asked, a little worried.

"Legilimency, Harry, is the art of invading another individual's mind through eye-contact. Depending on the skill of the user, and I assure you that Tom is incredibly skilled, anything from banal surface thoughts to one's deepest secrets can be leeched into their sight.

"You mean Voldemort read my mind? Just by looking me in the eye!" asked a distraught Harry.

"No, Harry. The mind is not so simple that you can read it as if it were a tome. The mind is a many layered complexity that is, for all of our magic, beyond our full comprehension." He chuckled. "In fact, were I to wager a guess, I would say that our Muggle counterparts know more about the human brain than we do. Legilimency relies on emotions. If a Legilimens was focusing on fear when he invaded another person's mind, for instance, he would be able to find memories the victim associated with fear."

"But Professor," cried Harry, "he was finishing my sentences! He knew exactly what I was going to say! How is that not reading my - ."

"Harry!" interjected Dumbledore soothingly, "You must calm down. Your injuries, though healed, severely taxed your body and whatever occurred in the Chamber rendered you magically exhausted. You must stay calm else Madam Pomfrey sees fit to remove me before you get the answers you deserve."

"I'm sorry, sir," Harry said, eyes downcast, "it's just that I don't understand how it's not mind reading if he is finishing my thoughts for me."

"Harry, remember back to what I said earlier when I first introduced you to the art." Dumbledore instructed. "A Legilimens is easily able to pick up on the surface thoughts of an unprotected mind. Whilst you were conversing with Tom, were you, perchance, thinking more about what you wanted to say than you usually do? Attempted to pick your words more carefully?"

"Yes sir," Harry started, "I wanted to keep Voldemort talking while I tried to think of a plan to escape with Ginny. Instead of just speaking naturally, I carefully considered..." Harry stopped. "Oh."

"Exactly, Harry!" Dumbledore praised. "The words you were going to say flashed across your consciousness as you prepared to say them. Using Legilimency in this manner is similar to using flashy fireworks and novice rank dueling spells during a serious conflict. While flashy, it is ultimately useless outside of being a distraction. In fact," Dumbledore mused, "it can even be considered a deterrent to the Legilimens. Even the most skilled user cannot split their focus to two different parts of the human mind. It is simply too complex."

Harry pondered this for a moment, then frowned. "He was able to find out about the Philosopher's Stone from my mind," Harry said, a trifle upset.

"And how did young Tom respond to the knowledge that you thwarted his older self from attaining the stone?"

"He was angry, sir," Harry said, "but not because he failed to get it. Well not only because he failed to get it. He was furious that his future self had to rely on "Nicholas Flamel's Novelty Rock," as he put it."

"Oh?"

"Riddle went on to say that he had discovered more "alluring" ways of attaining immortality than being forever beholden to the Elixir of Life," Harry went on.

"That is most troubling," Dumbledore frowned. "I suppose that's what he meant when he told me he had delved deeper into magic than any before him." Dumbledore sighed. "Troubling indeed."

"Professor?"

"Ah, my boy, I do not want to burden you with the speculations of my over-taxed mind."

Harry frowned, a little put out that Dumbledore was not being very free with his information.

"Harry, you must understand and forgive me. You do not have a firm enough grasp in magic to comprehend the magic Tom was speaking of, nor should you," Dumbledore cautioned. "You also must understand that what I believe now is merely alarming supposition. It would be cruel of me to worry you with such thoughts when it may turn out to be nothing but the bravado of a brilliant seventeen year old student."

Harry understood. He had no reason to mistrust Albus Dumbledore and he had every reason in the world _to_ trust him. But he didn't have like it.

"Sir," Harry spoke into the silence, "other than breaking eye-contact, is there a counter to Legilimency?"

Dumbledore stared pensively at Harry, looking as though he was having an internal argument. The silence became rather tense.

"I had an interesting conversation with Professor McGonagall while you were unconscious," Dumbledore broke the silence. "I was most interested in finding out that you chose to change your choice of electives for next year. Ancient Runes, Harry, is a remarkably difficult course. Your decision to drop a rather easy class in Divination in lieu of Ancient Runes is rather out of character."

"I'd like to think that I'm smart enough to take a hard class, sir." Harry responded stiffly.

"Of that I have no doubt, my boy," Dumbledore began, "I am merely worried how you would respond if the material does not prove to be easy to you. I worry that you would treat the class like you treat Charms."

"Unless Ancient Runes prove to be as useless as Charms, I don't think that will be a problem."

"Why do you think that Charms is a useless class, Harry?"

"How is it not?" Harry asked petulantly. "What is the point in making a pineapple tap dance? How is that remotely useful. What is the benefit of making of making a tea cup do cartwheels? Why should I care about making a feather do acrobatics?"

"That's your reason, Harry? You cherry pick three specific spells and use them to paint an entire branch of magic as useless? What of the _protego_ shield charm, Harry? Or the Patronus charm, the only known way to repel a handful of dark creatures?

Harry said nothing.

"Are you sure your disdain towards Charms is not rooted in another cause? Maybe the fact that it does not come as naturally to you as Transfiguration? Or Defense Against the Dark Arts? Could that be the real reason for your startling lack of effort within Professor Flitwick's classroom? The fact that you have to actually try?" Dumbledore questioned.

"I try plenty hard in Charms." Harry said, scowling.

"Do you," asked Dumbledore skeptically, "and if I were to ask for Professor Flitwick's opinion on the subject?"

"I think that Flitwick would greatly enjoy telling you all about my academic failings," said Harry defensively.

"I do not imagine that _Professor_ Flitwick would derive any enjoyment from that at all Harry. He is, above all, an instructor, and no instructor wants any of their students to do poorly. I expect that he would express disappointment in your complete lack of desire to improve yourself in his class, but nothing else."

Harry sagged in his bed, dropping the frown from his face. "I'm sorry sir," Harry began, contritely, "it's just frustrating. I have read all about how my mum was some sort of charms prodigy in school, and I just feel like I'm disappointing her. And then I have to see Malfoy sneer at me and say how I'm not much of a wizard after getting a charm on the first try, _again_, while I have to practice for hours outside of class just to make my bloody teacup wiggle!"

"Harry," said Dumbledore softly, "do not think for a moment that your mother would be disappointed in your struggling in Charms. The fact that you routinely give up after failing to cast a charm might have irked her, but not that you lack talent in the area."

The pair lapsed into silence.

"Professor, what did that have to do with countering Legilimency?"

"Harry, I must admit that I am in a difficult position. Occlumency, the art of defending your mind, is not typically taught to children as young as you since, for the most part, the younger you are, the less apt you are at the meditation required. In addition, it is very unlike Transfiguration or Defense Against the Dark Arts. Those two subjects are very strict disciplines with a plethora of accepted rules. As an example, I cite the First Fundamental Law of Transfiguration: A conjured object has a finite lifetime. No matter how much power you put into your magic, no matter how focused your intent is, the object will eventually disappear."

Conversely, Occlumency is very abstract. It is not as simple as saying an incantation or silently casting and having your mind protected. One must be in total control of their mind, be so in control that they can instantly empty their mind of all emotion, rendering a Legilimency attack useless." Dumbledore ended his lecture.

"So you won't teach me?" asked Harry, getting angry again.

"I said nothing of the sort. I am merely concerned that, by introducing you to the art before you may be ready, you will struggle with it and deem it 'useless'," Dumbledore said quietly.

"Professor Dumbledore, I promise I won't treat this like I treated Charms," said Harry honestly, "I have all the motivation in the world to learn this."

"Treat_ed_ Charms, Harry?"

"I have decided that it might be in my best interests to treat Professor Flitwick's class more seriously, sir." said Harry sullenly.

"How very wise of you, Harry." responded a satisfied Dumbledore.

Once again, silence blanketed the Hospital Wing.

"Has Madam Pomfrey told you how long you were to remain within her domain?"

Scowling, Harry replied, "two more days, Professor."

"Ah," Dumbledore smiled. "That should easily be enough time to teach you."

"Wait, what?" Harry asked, confused. "I thought you said that Occlumency was a hard branch of magic to learn."

"It is a hard discipline to _master_, Harry. Simply attaining the void is the easy part. _Maintaining _the void while under duress is the challenge. I am going to teach you a method of meditation that worked for me in the hopes that it works for you. That is it. It will be up to you to frequently practice clearing your mind during the day and before you sleep.

"Now, I want you to close your eyes and imagine a flame. A single flame. There is nothing but the flame. All of your insecurities, all of your fears, all of your anger, all of your joy: feed them to the flame. There is nothing but the flame. _Clear your mind._"

~0~0~0~0~

Harry had been back at the Dursley residence for a month and he pursued perfection of Occlumency to an almost fanatical degree. He sought the void every night before he succumbed to sleep and practiced his meditations whenever he could find time to himself. Initially, practicing Occlumency while at the Dursleys was very challenging. It was hard burying the animosity he felt towards the family and their treatment of him. Now, however, he was concluding that practicing here was perfect. Loathing is a much more powerful emotion than contentment, and if he could feed abhorrence to the fire, he could do anything.

Harry was roused from his meditation by a tap-tap-tap at his window. It was, undoubtedly, another of his friends wishing him a happy birthday.

The void undulated and Harry quickly stamped out the happiness. This was merely the most recent in a series of reminders that he needs to control more than just his anger. Maintaining his hold on his emotions, Harry moved to the window and let the poor creature in. Not even stopping for water, the owl dropped off its letter and package and shot back out the window.

Harry smiled as he read the letter from Hagrid. He sat the letter in the growling pile on his nightstand and studied the package. Suspicion fluttered across the void. Hagrid's letter had said that this would be useful during the upcoming school year, but the hulking man's definition of useful was questionable at best. Harry gingerly undid the twine that ensnared the package and opened it up to see what was, to his surprise, a book.

"The Monster Book of Monsters, eh?" Harry said to himself. Does Hagrid have access to the list of electives chosen by the students? Harry wondered how the lovable giant knew he was taking Care of Magical Creatures, but decided not to worry about it.

Two things happened as he removed the book from its confinement: he was promptly attacked by the suddenly tooth-wielding book and his hold on the void shattered.

The book fell to the floor and began moving in circles like a rabid beast. After a few seconds of crazed movement, it fled to the comforting darkness under the bed.

Harry was furious as he wrangled the snarling book out from under his bed. His anger made overpowering and firmly tying the book-beast closed a simple matter. With the tome safely bound and stowed away within a drawer, Harry paced and fumed. The book was an annoyance. An inconvenience at best. Though it had teeth, they were purely cosmetic. It couldn't hurt him. So why had he lost control like that? He glared at Hagrid's letter, annoyed that he thought Harry needed that bloody book. Surely that wasn't the textbook for Care of Magical Creatures? Right? It was just a novelty book that catalogs various magical beasts. And attacks people.

With a sigh, Harry settled himself back on the floor, determined to re-Occlude his mind. He was almost surprised at how easily he was able to let go of his anger, but in his calm, centered state of mind, he was able to recall Dumbledore's words from the Hospital Wing. Maintenance is much more difficult than attainment. His smugness was completely evaporated at this point; the book had successfully pierced his ego. He still had much to learn, and he was enslaved by the idea of perfection.

Thus, it was a perfectly centered Harry that was confronted by Dudley Dursley. The latter slammed open Harry's door and was surprised to see him sitting on the floor.

"What are you doing sitting on the floor, Potter? This is weird, even for _you_." Dudley said with a sneer.

"I am meditating, Dudley," Harry said with complete calmness. To be truthful, Harry had been expecting this confrontation for a while now. Dudley was deathly afraid of Wizards, it's true, but since being told that Harry risked expulsion by casting while outside of school, he had become much braver.

"You mean like those Chinese people? I didn't know you... people were into that Nancy-boy crap."

"It helps keep me centered and focused, Dudley." Harry, knowing that his back was to the door, allowed a devilish smirk to grace his lips and reached for his wand. "It also makes it easier to cast painful curses on those who interrupt me."

Dudley shrunk backwards in fear, then seemed to remember that Harry could not cast outside of his school. "Don't give me that crap, Potter. I know you can't do anything outside of your little school. You'll get in trouble!"

"Probably," Harry agreed, "but that wouldn't help you."

"Huh," asked Dudley, confusion descending upon him.

"I will most likely get in trouble, yes, but that won't help you." Harry turned around and looked at Dudley for the first time. "I can cast anything I want on you, Dudley. I would face the consequences back at Hogwarts, but that doesn't make any curses I hit you with less real. Less _painful. _Think about that next time you barge in on my room unannounced."

Dudley bid an ignominious retreat.

Harry checked his clock and grimaced. He had, at most, half an hour until Uncle Vernon came home and Dudley invariably told him of Harry's threats. Hoping to make the most of that time, Harry set out to write a potentially awkward letter he had been putting off. Ron's letter from Egypt mentioned that his brother worked with Gringotts' Goblins as a curse breaker and that he broke into the ancient pyramids. Harry was hoping that maybe this Bill could tell him about the carving that saved him from the Basilisk. He still didn't know what madness came over him about not telling Dumbledore. Every time he tried, his mind was able to rationalize reasons against it. Shaking his head, Harry set out writing.

_Dear Bill,_

_I know this may seem weird, what with a random third year writing you and all, but in a recent letter, your brother Ron mentioned that you were a curse breaker in Egypt and I was curious._

_I was raised with Muggles, so some of these magical careers are confusing to me. What exactly does a curse breaker do? I'm not completely ignorant about ancient Egypt, I've read about it quite frequently, but I don't know what a curse breaker does. Do you guys infiltrate the pyramids and mastabas and take the treasure out? Haven't the Muggle tomb raiders already cleaned out most of the tombs? Are some of the more important treasures protected magically so the Muggles can't get past them? Like magically fake walls or something?_

_If I were to want to be a curse breaker, what classes do I need to sign up for? I chose Ancient Runes and Care of Magical Creatures as my electives. Would those be the right ones? I wouldn't need to be well versed in Charms, would I?_

_Another thing: are some of the curses and "booby-traps" the Muggles write of actual curses, like the "Curse of the Pharaohs?" I had read that the first Egyptologists who discovered King Tut's tomb died of mysterious causes not too soon after ransacking the treasure. Was that an actual curse placed by an ancient Egyptian wizard? It is really neat that some of their curses apparently lied dormant for thousands of years, but I guess it makes your job more interesting. _

_One last thing, have you ever encountered a strange carving in any of the tombs? I have read about an intricate carving of a man with a staff and a falcon's head. It was apparently able to mentally communicate with a man who looked it in the eyes and showed him visions. Have you seen any etchings that behave like this, or was the myth just a myth?_

_Thanks,_

_Harry Potter_

After reading through the letter and deeming it acceptable, Harry send Hedwig on her way, apologizing profusely that he was making her fly into a desert.

_Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump._

Harry's face fell. The rhythmic beats could mean one of two things, and he was pretty sure dinosaurs were extinct. He was about to face the consequences for putting the fear of God into Dudley it seems. He frantically sought the void. He would surely be in trouble enough for threatening Dudley, compounding things with his smart mouth just would not do.

Harry's door burst open, the light from the hallway was eclipsed by the unfathomable girth wedged in the door frame. From the heart of the umbra, a voice thundered, "What's this I hear about you threatening Dudley, boy?"

"I'm sorry, Uncle Vernon. I was sitting in here meditating when Dudley slammed open my door and startled me. My, um, _stick, _was laying on the floor beside me at the time. Reaching out for it was a natural reflex, but that's all that happened," Harry lied.

Uncle Vernon glared at Harry through narrowed eyes. "Why should I trust_ you_ over Dudley?"

"Well, sir, Dudley has always been a little unnerved by, uh, _my people_ ever since that night in the seaside cottage. He probably thought I meant to attack him when I reached for my wan-, _my stick_. I was just startled, sir."

Loathe as he was to admit it, Vernon conceded the point to Harry. He still was not pleased that Harry had his blasted stick in plain sight. "I told you at the beginning of the summer, boy, that I didn't want to regret allowing you to have your freakish books and your _stick,_" Vernon snarled. "You may be to big for your cupboard now, but we can still withhold meals. You had best make sure that Dudley doesn't _startle_ you again, do you understand me?"

Anger rippled across the void, but Harry held on. "Yes sir, I understand you perfectly."

"Good. Now, I am about to go pick up Aunt Marge from the train station. You mark me well, boy-"

The void fractured and dissolved.

"Aunt Marge?" Harry blurted out. "She's not coming here is she?"

"Do not interrupt me! Yes, Marge is coming here and she will be here for a week! As I was saying before, there will be no _funny business_ while she is here. Understand? No. Funny. Business. She knows nothing about your _abnormality_, and she will remain in the dark or there will be consequences.

"Now, ground rules. Number 1: You will maintain a civil tongue when you're talking to Aunt Marge. Out of the goodness of our hearts, Petunia and I allow you some _freedom_ with your wicked vocabulary. You will not mouth off to Marge, understand?"

"Yes sir," said a seething Harry. "As long as she doesn't spend the entire vacation insulting me."

"Secondly," said Uncle Vernon, acting as though he had not heard Harry's reply, "we've told Marge that you attend St. Brutus's Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys."

"You WHAT?" Harry snarled. "How dare you slander me like that? I won't go along with the story. I - " He was cutoff by the backhand of Vernon.

"Don't you speak to me like that, boy! You will stick to the story, or there will be trouble."

"And what happens if I forget, _Uncle_?"

"You'll get the stuffing knocked out of you, that's what will happen!" roared an increasingly irate Uncle Vernon.

"Well, _knocking the stuffing_ out of me won't make Aunt Marge forget anything that might... slip out, will it?"

Vernon paled at that. He hated when _the boy_ was right.

"I'll make you a deal Uncle. If you sign a permission slip for Hog-, _my school _right now, I'll follow your rules to the T. If you don't, I'll reveal my world to Marge in a very big way. I know I'll be punished, by both you and _my world_, but that won't keep Marge from knowing that you're related to a _freak!_"

For all of his flaws, Vernon Dursley was the consummate business man. He knew how to play the corporate game and he knew when he was beat. This was one of those times. He pulled a pen from his pocket.

"Fine. Give me the form."

Harry smirked as he retrieved the Hogsmeade permission slip from his trunk and had Vernon sign it. As he settled back on the floor for more practice, he congratulated himself on outsmarting his uncle. He was beginning to enjoy victory through deceit.

Maybe the Sorting Hat was right. Maybe he would have fit better in the dungeons of Slytherin.

Harry immediately shook those thoughts from his head; they served no purpose. He was sorted into Gryffindor. He _was_ a Gryffindor. He had drawn the sword from the hat, after all.

Harry pondered Marge's upcoming visit. Initially, he saw it as a bizarre form of punishment and was angry. He hated having that _woman_ forced upon him. But now... but now he saw it as a test of his Occlumency abilities. He reached for the void only to have a memory of Marge and her beastly dog, Ripper, shatter it before he could begin.

Harry grimaced.

Yes, this would indeed be a test. He hoped he was up to the challenge.

~0~0~0~0~

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Harry Potter belongs to J. K. Rowling and the concept behind the flame and the void belongs to the great Robert Jordan. I am merely applying it to this universe.


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